


It's Complicated

by shnuffeluv



Series: Baker Street Irregulars [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Gender Confusion, Gender Identity, Gender Related, Genderflux Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-15
Updated: 2016-04-15
Packaged: 2018-06-02 12:27:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6566176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shnuffeluv/pseuds/shnuffeluv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft has never seen himself as anyone's son. But then again, he's quite obviously not anyone's daughter. So who is he?</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Complicated

**Author's Note:**

> This is hopefully the first in a series of ficlets I write with the Sherlock characters in not well-known identities and sexualities and even hopefully gender expression. If you have any ideas for what you'd like to see, let me know! (Though, please please please don't request gay!Sherlock and bisexual!John in Johnlock. That's more than represented already, don't you think?)

Mycroft knew many things. Not everything like his brother suggested, but he had generalized knowledge of almost every subject you could come across. The one thing he didn’t know, though, was who he was. He supposed he was a he at age 6, because that was what his parents called him-their son, not anything else-but it didn’t quite fit right on his tongue. Son. Son.  _ Son _ . It just didn’t...feel right to him. He didn’t mind using he, or him, or his. Those were perfectly acceptable. But he didn’t understand why people would yell when someone used she, or her, or hers. They fit just as well to him, and he certainly didn’t mind, unlike his parents.

When he was 7, his parents said that he might have a little brother or sister. He just shrugged and said, “What’s the difference?”

His parents tried to explain that girls used she her hers and boys used he him his and girls wore pink and dresses and boys wore blue and suits and Mycroft just frowned. He didn’t mind pink, though it was awfully bright, and it stood out on the nice girls’ umbrellas at school. Was he supposed to hate it? Was he really a girl if he liked pink? “But...pink isn’t bad? I thought there were just no boys clothes in pink and that’s why I never wore it. Are you saying pink is for only girls?”

His parents looked at each other. “It’s...complicated, Mycroft. Not for kids your age,” his mother said.

Mycroft just shook his head and walked to his room, looking in the mirror. He had always supposed he was a boy. Had he supposed wrong? He could have sworn there were days that he really,  _ really _ felt like a boy. But he also felt...wrong, sometimes. And that word. Son. Son.  _ Son _ . It didn’t resonate right. It didn’t fit easily onto his tongue, even now.

What  _ was _ the difference between being a boy and a girl? Was there some adult code he wasn’t privy to? Was there something that he thought he knew but was wrong about? Or was it the reason teenagers kissed each other and winked and laughed about pulling down girls’ skirts? He sat down and thought. “I need to research this,” he decided, and was about to leave his room when he ran straight into his mother.

“Myc, I need to ask you a question, and I need you to answer honestly. Do you wish you were a girl?”

Mycroft thought about it. He shook his head. “No, Mummy. I don’t wish I was a girl. But I’m not sure I’m like a boy, either.”

His mother frowned and shook her head. “What do you mean, Myc?”

Mycroft frowned. “Well...my, my...lower parts are what say what pronouns people use, right? I just always thought…” he shook his head. “Sorry, I’m stupid.”

“You’re not stupid, Myc. Just try to explain.”

Mycroft crossed his arms. “Everyone at school is always like, ‘oh, you’re a boy,’ or ‘I’m a girl’ and I just thought everyone always just...sorta said that because of what parts they had down there.” He nodded toward his pants. “I think...I must be a boy...because I have what the doctors say make me a boy. But...I don’t automatically see myself as a boy where everyone else automatically says I am. It’s like...I’m only a boy because people say I’m a boy. If people called me a girl I wouldn’t mind, and I’d just as easily call myself a girl.” He frowned. “Do...other people feel...differently?”

His mother chewed her lip. “How about we talk about this with your father, hm?”

Mycroft’s eyes widened. “They do?! How do normal people feel?!”

“Myc, you’re normal…”

“But I feel things differently, you practically said so yourself!” he sighed and shrugged. “I’m curious, Mummy. I want to know what most people feel.”

“Well...people feel whether they’re a girl or a boy automatically, not just because everyone says they’re one way or another. So, if everyone said you were a girl, you would either automatically agree with them or think, ‘no, I’m a boy’.”

“Really?” Mycroft asked skeptically.

His mother nodded. “Really, Myc.”

Mycroft looked down at the floor, gears turning in his head. “Well, then I guess I’m neither!” he said simply, and that was that for him.

Later, when his parents thought he was taking a shower, he heard the hushed whispered word.  _ Transgender _ . It was said with such fear and apprehension, Mycroft had wished he had never heard it. He quickly got ready for bed and hid under his covers, covering his ears and convincing himself he was actually a boy, when his head screamed  _ neither, neither, neither _ .

When he was 10 when Sherlock said his first words in a clear sentence. “Myc is my brother!” he exclaimed gleefully to all the guests at New Year’s.

Mycroft smiled but felt a little part of him shatter inside at yet another word that didn’t quite fit. That same old  _ neither, neither, neither _ played in his head, but he knew just yesterday he had felt like a boy.

What was wrong with him?

When he was 16 and Sherlock was 9 he asked his brother to stop calling him “brother” so much.

“Why?” Sherlock had asked.

“Because I don’t feel like your brother today,” Mycroft had tried to explain.

“You were my brother yesterday,” Sherlock pointed out.

“But I don’t feel like your brother  _ today _ . Could you just call me your sibling?”

Sherlock frowned. “But won’t Mummy or Father get upset about that?”

Mycroft shook his head. “I talked to them about this years ago, before you were born. I wanted to wait until you understood that this has to be a secret just for us, okay?”

“Why?”

“Because some people don’t like it.”

“Why?”

“I wish I knew, Sherlock,” Mycroft sighed. “I wish I knew.”

He was taking a quiz one day on the computers at University when the result came in, and he frowned. It was one of those silly things his classmate was designing. “What’s...genderflux?”

The classmate came over. “Well I’ll be! Someone actually got it! I had to include it, just to see, but someone actually got it!”

“Ben,” Mycroft asked, his breath coming short. “What’s genderflux?”

“Oh, it’s a subset of the gender identity genderfluid, where your gender varies in intensity depending on the day. So you might feel like a boy one day, and then a demiboy the next, which is a combination of a boy and something else, and agender, which is the lack of gender. What do you think your gender is?”

Mycroft felt a lump form in his throat. “It’s complicated. I’m not a boy. But I’m not a girl. I’m...just...Mycroft.”

Ben nodded. “ID as a boy just because that’s what everyone called you?”

Mycroft mutely nodded.

“Congratulations, my friend, I think you’re genderflux,” Ben said with cheer. “Thanks for trying out the quiz.”

Mycroft nodded and walked out of the computer lab, that familiar chant in his head.  _ Neither...neither...neither... _ and he got to say, “That’s right.” He laughed, “I’m genderflux.”

The happiness only lasted so long until a new dilemma popped up. How was he supposed to tell his parents? And could he count himself a he anymore? He never had a problem with his pronouns, so he decided he would keep them. But still...his parents were an issue. He still remembered overhearing their conversation from all those years ago...and the whispered word that would occasionally run through his head, like it was a wrongdoing. But he wasn’t their son, not fully, and he didn’t want to lie to them or himself anymore. The end of the semester was just around the corner, and he was scheduled to go home. He figured that he would find a way to tell his family by then.

The morning that Mycroft was supposed to go home, they could tell they needed to add new pronouns to the list that they used for themself. They didn’t feel like a boy at all, and the very thought made them feel extremely uneasy.  _ Agender _ , their mind helpfully supplied. “Great,” they muttered. “I have to tell my parents first day back because of dysphoria.”

They got everything packed up and in their car, and started the long drive home, drowning out the unease they felt in their music. The second they were on the driveway to their home Sherlock was running up to greet them. Mycroft braced themself for the inevitable labelling of being Sherlock’s brother, but it didn’t come. Sherlock just stuck his arms through the window and crossed them so he had something to lean on. “Hey there, sibling.”

Mycroft offered a small smile in return. “Hey. I see you didn’t burn the house down.”

Sherlock shook his head. “Mummy and Father are inside. They were incredibly impatient waiting for you.”

Mycroft laughed and got out of the car, grabbing their things. “Well, I just hope they’ll still feel that way in 15 minutes.”

Sherlock took in Mycroft’s posture, their expression, and their clothing. “You found out who you are, didn’t you?”

“From an acquaintance in gender studies, yes.”

“Well, don’t keep me waiting!” Sherlock yelled. “Tell me! Who are you, if you’re not my brother?”

“I’m your brother some days and your sibling others,” Mycroft shrugged. “It’s called being genderflux.”

Sherlock nodded. “Can...can I tell Mummy?”

Mycroft paused. “It’s probably better coming from you than me anyway. You’re more succinct,” they mused. “Sure. Go ahead.”

Sherlock sprinted off to the house, and Mycroft followed behind with their things. The second they were in the house they were crushed in a hug.  _ Well, this could be worse, _ they reasoned.  _ I could be kicked out. _ “I’m glad you found who you are, Myc,” their mother whispered.

Mycroft couldn’t help but chuckle in some sense of relief. “Yeah, me too.”


End file.
